


Perfectly Okay With It

by SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1547378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock/pseuds/SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John hasn't had a heat in about twenty years. So when he forgets to take one of his suppressants; sending him into a heat, Sherlock sees him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfectly Okay With It

**Author's Note:**

> This story was beta's by my lovely girlfriend http://appleschloss.tumblr.com/

Being an Omega was never easy. Even nowadays when they were rising to positions of power, running countries, and doing more than most thought possible, it was still difficult to live with the title. But then, it wasn’t just a title, it was a classification— a gene that made it possible for both men and women to reproduce. And while the aspect of it sounded wonderful, it simply wasn’t _easy_ being seen as what some people called a ‘breeder.’

It’s that reason that John hid the fact that he was an Omega. As a kid, he got numerous detentions, suspensions, and one expulsion because of what he was. John may have been an Omega but that never meant he had to sit down and take whatever the other kids would say about him— about the way he was born. So he’d beat the shit out of anyone who dare look his way funny on the subject.

The fighting was one of the many reasons he joined the army. He was good at fighting, he was strong, and he had everything to prove to show them all that yes, Omega’s can do it too. If not for anyone else, for himself.

It was in the military that he learned to rely heavily on his suppressants, more so than when he was a teenager. He couldn’t be in the middle of battle and suddenly be taken down because he was going through his heat. He would never survive. He took them like candy. Doctors said it wasn’t healthy, that he should let his body have a heat at least once every three months so that the hormones wouldn’t build up inside him and hit him full force if he ever did decide to have a heat again.

And while he knew they were right, being a doctor himself, he didn’t listen, choosing convenience over health. But even after he was injured and sent home, he continued to take them.

The first thing John noticed about Sherlock when they met was that the man was an Alpha. It was why he was so hesitant to live with him at first. Never mind that the man seemed unbearable and unsociable at best, psychotic and dreadful at worst. No, it was the fact that he had never been with an Alpha through one of his heats and he didn’t know what Sherlock would do if he ever smelt him.

But Sherlock was different. He didn’t thrive for sexual interactions like others might. He knew John was an Omega but did nothing to mate with him or to address the fact. He treated him no differently than he did everyone else, save for the fact he was just a bit nicer to him.

They never talked about it simply fell into the mind set of ignoring it and going about their lives like they would normally. John continued to take his suppressants every day, twice a day; one in the morning and one at night and Sherlock paid no mind to it.

That was, until there was no way to ignore it. 

* * *

 

 

“Sherlock,” John whined a bit. “Where on earth are you taking me?” In all honesty, John didn’t want to go anywhere. He loved going on cases with Sherlock, watching him deduce, keeping him in check the best he could. He loved it all. But he had just had too long of a day at the surgery, complete with a kid throwing up on him and he just wasn’t in the mood to go gallivanting all over London at this time of night.

Sherlock ignored him, pulling him along. He pulled him outside, trying to hail a cab.

John pulled at his wrist but to no avail. “Come on, Sherlock. You go on cases without me all the time. Why do you need me on this specific case?”

The taller man rolled his eyes and sighed. “I need a second opinion,” he said monotonously. He really did hate explaining himself to John. After years of their living together, he would have thought that the blond would stop tedious questions such as that.

John scoffed but left it alone. Sherlock only ever needed his opinion when looking at bodies. So that meant that not only would they be going to the morgue where he would watch Molly fawn all over him, but he would spend the next few hours in a remote silence while he fetched things like beakers, slides, and different chemicals.

It is not that he minds most of the time. But once Sherlock got going, it was hard to get him to stop and he could become unbearable.

He sighed again, finally pulling his wrist out of Sherlock’s grasp. “I’ll go on one condition.” He watched as Sherlock lifted an eyebrow in his direction, conveying that he was listening but he obviously didn’t care. “I’ll go if I actually get to eat. I’m not sitting with you in the morgue while you get lost in a case without supper. And I _don’t_ mean some crisps you get from the machine. I mean at least some take out.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, inwardly commending John on being able to deduce that they were going to the morgue. “We will stop and get you something on the way. Satisfied?”

John grumbled, still not wanting to go but there was no arguing with Sherlock when he was like this, mind on the case and nothing else.

A cab pulled up and Sherlock ushered him inside, making sure the shorter man didn’t make a break for it.

“Are you at least going to tell me about the case?”

“Caucasian male in his forties washes ashore out of the Thames. Lestrade has no idea where he came from and they can’t find his fingerprints. Marvelous isn’t it?”

John shook his head, not being able to hold back the laugh that bubbled out of him at Sherlock’s small smirk. He could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes, his brain working in mysterious ways as it always had. He watched him, the smile never leaving his face.

“You got a theory?” he asked.

Sherlock’s head snapped up. He gave John a small smirk. “Seventy-three…seventy-two if he wasn’t married.”

John chuckled again, looking out the window of the cab. As they made their way to Bart’s, he felt a frown form on his face. He didn’t know what brought on the overwhelming feeling that he was forgetting something. He reached down and checked his pockets, looking for his phone. His fingers touched the cold glass, making his frown deepen. After a moment of thought, he shrugged. It couldn’t have been that important if he couldn’t remember it.

 

John leaned on his fist, his eyes closing just a bit. He breathed deeply then sighed a bit dreamily, the feeling of his eyes finally closing felt wonderful as his eyes had started stinging with tiredness. His shoulders slumped and his breathing evened out, simply resting his eyes.

Sherlock was looking into a microscope, flipping between slides, his mind working. Unfortunately, the case wasn’t the only thing is mind was trying to work out. His eyes flicked over to John and stayed fixed on him before looking back down at the slide.

Something was different about John that he couldn’t quite figure out without completely forgetting the case and focusing all his attention on the Omega.

They had been there for hours, the sky beginning to lighten again as the sun tried to break through clouds and the moon retired.

Suddenly Molly was by his side, breaking his concentration. His face twisted in a mixture of anger and frustration at being interrupted. “What?” he snapped.

Molly started a bit, immediately trying to right herself. “I, er, I was wondering if you were busy tomorrow…or— well, today… o-or tonight…” she asked awkwardly.

Sherlock looked back down at the microscope. He knew what Molly was asking— what she wanted. And they both knew that Sherlock wouldn’t, couldn’t give it to her. He simply didn’t see her like that and he never would. He knew she hoped that if they spent enough time together that it would change, as did many people who had unrequited feelings.

But Sherlock had no such feelings toward her. And after assessing some things about himself, he knew he never would. Firstly; he was certain that if he ever did find someone that could handle his personality and wanted a relationship, it would be with a man. Secondly; he didn’t have time, not with how needy people got. Always looking for affections, needing affirmation of their relationship, needing to be told constantly how he felt.

And then there was John who would, no doubt, be perfect for him if it weren’t for the fact that John didn’t date and when he did, it wasn’t with Alpha’s, let alone men. He had gone out a few times when he had moved in with him, but that had been the extent of it. He hadn’t dated much since. But John wouldn’t need any of the aforementioned pleasantries. He would understand Sherlock’s intentions without confirmation.

But it wasn’t as if Sherlock was going to proposition him. Sure, it was how you were supposed to do it; tell an Omega you would like to bond and mate with them and then simply go from there. But he would never do anything like that. He hardly thought John rejecting him was something he needed.

He didn’t look back up at her. “Busy. Very busy. I’ve got to get John home, tell Lestrade I’ve solved the case. My brother has not been around in a few weeks, I should be expecting him,” he explained as he hopped out of the chair and grabbed his coat.

He didn’t give Molly time to respond as he moved toward John. He tapped the other man on the shoulder hard enough to stir him. “We’re leaving, John.”

“Wha—” John voiced as he opened his eyes groggily. He looked over to see Sherlock’s retreating form, quickly getting up and following a suit and waving a quick goodbye to Molly.

“What was that all about?” the shorter man asked when they were alone. “Why were you in such a hurry to get out of there?”

“I’ve solved the case. No need to linger,” he stated simply.

John nodded in understanding as they entered the elevator. “Molly ask you out again?”

“Yes,” was the only answer Sherlock gave, not wanting to elaborate.

John looked away, a bit of a smile on his face. Sherlock didn’t really need to elaborate when it came to Molly. The Beta had a thing for Sherlock, Sherlock had a thing for nobody, and that was that.

Suddenly John felt lightheaded, swaying on his feet a bit.

Sherlock’s hands were on him immediately and without thought, holding him up. A worried expression was plastered on his face as he looked down at the blond man.

“Are you alright, John?”

John looked up, feeling the heat of how close they were making his skin starting to get clammy and bead sweat. He swallowed, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He looked up at Sherlock, surprised by the concerned and worried look that had chosen to reside there.

He looked away, righting himself, deciding to chalk it up to the elevator and having been jostled awake so quickly. “Y-yeah, I’m fine, Sherlock, just a bit lightheaded,” he said, obviously still a bit confused.

But Sherlock’s eyes squinted and his head tilted just a bit, obviously deducing what could be wrong. John wasn’t alright and they both knew that. John didn’t justo swoon for no apparent reason. Something had caused it. John had eaten—

John pushed his hands away lightly. “I’m fine, Sherlock,” he repeated. “Stop deducing me.”

Sherlock looked away without another word, moving from John just enough to give him some distance, hopefully giving him the air he needed to make him feel alright again.

It only took a moment, as the elevator doors opened and they stepped out, for John to realize that even without Sherlock as close as he was, his skin was beginning to heat up. Being the doctor he was, he immediately went into a state of mind, trying to figure out possible illnesses that started with a fever.

Sherlock looked back at his friend who was still, obviously, in distress. He watched as confusion flashed over the doctor’s face as he thought to himself.

Sherlock turned his head to the front again, silently deducing his friend as they exited the building and hailed a cab.

John had eaten, that wouldn’t have caused him to feel faint. He was showing no signs of hunger as he had eaten quite a bit. He could have been tired but he had napped on and off for hours while they sat in the morgue. At any rate, John was used to long nights. He had seen him almost dead on his feet but never to the point where he was swaying and almost falling. The elevator could have caused it but that was probably the least likely. They were in them at least three to four times a week and suddenly they were affecting him? Hardly. Sherlock had woken him abruptly. But he had done that before too and John had never reacted like that.

A cab pulled up, breaking both men out of their states of thought, forcing them to focus on getting in the vehicle and telling the cabbie where they wanted to go.

As soon as John sat down though, he felt a wave of heat roll over his body and he couldn’t help but gasp from the sheer force of it.

The consulting detective looked over, immediately tasting John’s scent on his tongue as he sucked in a breath to ask him, for the second time that day, if he was alright. But it was right at that moment that he knew just how alright John wasn’t. He was about to have his first heat in, what Sherlock guessed was, a decade; probably more.

He leaned forward, speaking to the cabbie. “Twenty quid extra if you can get us to Baker Street in five minutes or less.”

The cabbie sped up, John looking a bit dazed and confused.

“Sherlock, what—”

“John, when was the last time you took your suppressants? You take them twice a day, did you take one last night?”

John’s eyes widened, wondering how on earth Sherlock realized it before he did. It was his own bloody body. He shook his head. “No. You pulled me out of the flat so quickly and I-I forgot all about them…” he said, beginning to feel the full effects of the heat coming.

He felt the heat all over his skin and his clothes felt like they were sandpaper against his skin. And to top it off, all he could smell was Sherlock. Having an Alpha in such close proximity after not having a heat in almost twenty years was almost unbearable.

He writhed, his clothes becoming more uncomfortable by the second, a whimper escaping his mouth. He looked away from the taller man, hoping that would help but it wasn’t enough. He could still smell Sherlock and he was trying his best not to beg the consulting detective to take him.

He groaned, feeling his pants beginning to soak as slick dripped out of him. He heard Sherlock ask him a question but he was too far gone to answer or even comprehend what on earth he was asking him. His hips canted forward on the seat, trying to find some kind of friction but all he found was the uncomfortable scratch of his clothes.

They pulled up to Baker Street, Sherlock practically throwing the currency at the cabbie and dragging John out of the cab and up the two sets of stairs to the flat.

John stopped on the landing, gasping for breath and his fingers fumbling at his clothing. He was trying to get them off but he just couldn’t focus, not when his body felt like it was on fire and Sherlock’s touch was doing nothing but make it worse.

Sherlock looked down at him, not completely knowing what to do. He wanted so badly to help him but he simply didn’t know how to except get him to a room and lock him there for days; that much he was sure of. He couldn’t simply let John strip there on the landing, but it didn’t seem as if John could strip himself any way.

John whimpered at the conflicting thoughts in his head at the moment. Part of him was so utterly embarrassed that this was happening right in front of Sherlock, right in front of an Alpha that would no doubt take advantage of him and ruin their friendship. But on the other hand, he knew Sherlock wouldn’t do that to him, even though the need for him to was bubbling inside him.

Sherlock, making a snap decision, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to get John to take the flight of stairs to his bedroom and knowing that they couldn’t stay on the landing, hauled John into the flat.

John was losing control, he could feel it. He was losing control of his body and he hated the feeling. But he would have rather it be with Sherlock than with someone he didn’t know.

“Sherl—Sherlock p-please,” John begged as he continued to fumble with his clothes.

He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t care about anyone else the way he cared for John. He strived to take care of John the best he could when he knew the army doctor became incapable of doing so on his own. It was like he needed to. And this was no different.

He watched as John’s knees began to buckle and Sherlock pushed him back against the wall, holding him up. He held his breath sporadically, trying to control his own hormones at a time like this. He may have thought of himself as evolved enough to control himself, but John smelt like tea, and jam, and _home_. He just wanted to curl himself around it and John.

But now was not the time. John needed him and John, specifically, needed him to not take advantage of him at a time like this.

He unzipped and peeled off John’s coat before unbuttoning his shirt, throwing both articles of clothing in a direction neither of them cared about.

He had had a dream like this once, a dream in which John was moaning under him but it was more because of Sherlock than it was from his heat. In fact, in the dream, he hadn’t been in heat. Part of him wondered why he had never deleted it as he did with most of his dreams. Now he’s realizing it’s because he just can’t bring himself to delete the way John looks with lust in his eyes. This memory will go in his mind palace along with the dream.

John groaned as the feeling of Sherlock’s fingers brushing against his skin. In the back of his mind, he was reeling over how this might have looked to some people, Sherlock taking off his clothes at a hurried pace while he pants, moans, and writhes under the pressures of his heat.

It was only when Sherlock managed to get him fully naked that he realized his cock had been straining against his trousers.

He felt himself blush at the feeling of being fully exposed to Sherlock and pretty much in their kitchen no less, slick seeping out of him and down his thighs as his knees turned inward, trying to hold himself up.

“I’m going to move you to my room, John,” Sherlock said, mere inches from him.

And John lost control. When adding in all the factors, it’s not much of a surprise really. He’s never had an Alpha before, not during a heat anyway. His heat is tenfold because of how long his suppressants had kept him off of it. And then you add in Sherlock. You add in his terribly good looks, his intoxicating smell, his deep voice that just happened to blow breath in his face as he spoke, and the speaking of his name…it’s really a surprise John didn’t crack sooner.

He lunged forward, capturing Sherlock’s lips in a sloppy kiss as he wrapped his legs around the consulting detective’s waist, groaning at the feeling of being this close to him. His arms tightened around Sherlock’s neck and pulled him impossibly close.

Sherlock’s eyes stayed open wide as John tried to ravage his mouth, surprised by what John was doing. He pushed John back against the wall, not bothering to untangle his legs from his waist just yet.

“John,” he said in a warning tone, almost a growl. “I advise _strongly_ against doing that.”

The blond whined, pushing Sherlock’s coat to the floor and trying for his shirt. “P-please, Sherlock… I-I can’t— c-can’t take it…n-need you…”

Sherlock had to draw the line somewhere, didn’t he? He may have been apt to taking care of John when he needed him to, but this was different. John would most likely regret this in the morning and they couldn’t undo it.

“I know you’re feeling uncomfortable—”

Sherlock was cut off by John ripping his shirt open in frustration, buttons going everywhere. John rolled his hips, finally realizing that he could use their position to his advantage, the head of his cock rubbing against Sherlock’s exposed skin. He moaned at the feeling, finally relieving some of the pressure. He rolled his hips over and over as quickly as possible, knowing that Sherlock would stop him at any moment.

But Sherlock seemed to be powerless to do anything but watch as John pleasured himself against his body. He could feel his mid-section becoming wet with John’s pre-come and his slick soaking through his trousers from their position.

He was about to stop him, tell him they shouldn’t be doing this, when John stuttered out “D-don’t you want me…?” And John looked up at him with big eyes that were a beautiful blue-grey and Sherlock couldn’t refuse him because yes, he did want him.

He pushed John further against the wall, recapturing his lips in a searing kiss, both letting out groans of satisfaction. He pinned the Omega’s wrists above his head and rolled his body in sync with his tongue, the action eliciting a sultry moan from John at the friction it caused.

Sherlock would be lying if he said the sound didn’t arouse him beyond the point of no return. He could feel himself straining against his trousers and he kissed John deeper, tasting every bit of his mouth. A low moan escaped him.

John whimpered at the sound, knowing now more than ever how much he needed an Alpha to satisfy him correctly, needed Sherlock.

The consulting detective let go of his wrists in favor of moving his hands down his arms, past his chest, and settling on the soft globes of flesh that were John’s arse.

John keened at the touch, arching into Sherlock’s hands as he carded his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, fisting them no harder than a light tug but enough to send a wave of arousal over the Alpha which only made Sherlock push him harder against the wall, trying to get his tongue as deep into John’s mouth as he could.

John moaned around it. “Sh-Sherlock…” he whispered against his lips. He paused there for a moment, making sure Sherlock looked into his eyes, their breath mingling and playing on the others tongue.

Their eyes met and John’s breath hitched. No one had ever seen him like this, Sherlock was his first. For some reason the thought had him reeling, his body still moving against the other’s. He didn’t know if it was the fact that Sherlock would be his first Alpha or the fact that it was Sherlock, but he needed it— needed Sherlock.

“Please,” he muttered softly.

And that was really all Sherlock needed. He gripped John tighter as he brought him away from the wall and moved them to his bedroom.

He kicked the bedroom door closed, slowly laying John on the bed. The latter immediately began to squirm as Sherlock pulled away to shed his trousers, pants, shoes, and socks before climbing between John’s legs once again.

John’s entire body arched into the man on top of him, trying to chase any type of relief. He needed to be touched, needed it so badly but it was very clear that Sherlock was trying to be slow with him.

The blond opened his eyes to look up at Sherlock before looking between them, seeing Sherlock’s cock curled toward his stomach, looking achingly red. Part of John had assumed that Sherlock had agreed to this out of pity. Now it was clear that the great Sherlock Holmes could be as much a slave to hormones as anyone else could. The thought made him groan and grind upward, their cocks slipping together.

“O-oh _please_ Sh-Sherlock…n-need you _now_ …” he begged. Maybe any other time he would have thought the behavior beneath him. But right now he needed to be filled and it needed to be Sherlock.

The consulting detective hesitated before reaching down and between them and pushed a finger into the Omega, trying to stretch him before he took him. Perhaps if he ever got to do this again outside of John’s heat he could take it slowly, but slow wasn’t what John needed right now.

John’s face twisted in pleasure at finally having something inside him and knowing that it was only the beginning.

Sherlock couldn’t help but be aroused at how pliant John was for him, not to mention how wet he felt. He had never taken pleasure in this sort of carnal behavior but with John, he can’t seem to find a reason he ever thought himself above it.

Sherlock adds another finger as he kisses John’s neck, his tongue sliding along John’s sweat dampened skin. The taste is salty and a bit bitter but it makes him ache more for the man underneath him.

“ _Fuck_! O-ooohhh _Sherlock_!” John shouted, getting louder.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth turns up in the slightest smirk at knowing he can pull this kind of response from the John Watson…it’s magnificent.

He added one last finger, using his knowledge of the human body, and curls them upwards, searching for a tiny bundle of nerves he knows resides within every male.

John screeched when Sherlock hit it, his eyes flying open and his nails digging into Sherlock’s skin as his body arched and stiffened, come squirting between the two of them.

John’s panted hard and heavy, Sherlock’s fingers still buried inside him. He brought Sherlock down for a kiss and he could already feel himself hardening again. It’s his guess that Sherlock felt it too because the taller man is pumping his fingers in and out of him again.

John can’t form words at this point. All that comes out of him are broken whines and cries, his mouth trying to form Sherlock’s name but that bastard has too long of a name to moan out when he’s like this.

When Sherlock deems John stretched enough, he tells John to choose the position, both of them surprised that John is even coherent enough to do such a thing, but he is.

Without a word John flips over so that he’s on his stomach before pulling himself up on his hands and knees and presenting his ass for Sherlock, whimpering a bit at how exposed he feels.

Sherlock shifted behind him, readying to push into him. He laid down the length of Johns back, his chest covering the milky skin. “Spread your legs for me, John.”

John whined, immediately complying with the request. He always thought Alpha’s were rough; taking what they wanted whether the Omega wanted it or not. But Sherlock was different. He was easy, soft even. He treated John like a person and not something to breed. And that turned John on more than it should have.

Sherlock sucked at the nape of his neck, using one hand to hold him up as to not lay his full body weight on John, and using the other to guide himself into his new lover.

“Haa!” John moaned, pushing his hips back to move Sherlock in as far as he could go.

The Alpha grunted. John felt amazing around him, his walls pulsated, the owner of the tight, wet heat trying to decide between clenching down on the intrusion or relaxing for it.

John panted, hanging his head between his arms that were currently holding him up.

Without having to tell him, Sherlock started moving, grunting and panting at the feeling. While he bit his lip, John wasn’t hesitant about opening his mouth and shouting as loud as he could, conveying how much he enjoyed what Sherlock was doing.

Sherlock moved faster, not being able to hold himself back from thrusting hard and deep into John.

John turned his head to face Sherlock, capturing his lips the best he could in a position like this. He can feel Sherlock shudder on top of him and somewhere in his mind it registers that neither of them are going to last long; they’re both out of practice.

John can already feel Sherlock’s knot beginning to swell and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want it. He moaned loudly, pushing back on Sherlock the best he can, trying to forget the weakness in his arms.

Their movements become erratic, thrusting at each other without a rhythm, just the thought of bringing the other to completion. John cants his hips back as Sherlock pistons his forward, the room filling with the sound of their moans and their sweat dampened skin slapping against one another.

John feels Sherlock’s knot starting to slip past his rim just as Sherlock finds his prostate and the two feelings happening at the same time makes John go so weak that Sherlock reached under him, putting a hand on his chest and holding him up as best he can but even his limbs were starting to shake.

He can feel Sherlock trying not to push into him too far but he knows how close they both are.

John rams his hips back, effectively burying Sherlock’s knot inside him, the tip of his cock slamming against his prostate.

Both cry out in climax, Sherlock clamping down on John’s neck harshly, marking him; mating him.

John soaks the bed beneath him, feeling the Alpha come deep inside him, and tumbles downward, Sherlock not having a choice but to go down with him.

As his eyes droop, exhausted, it vaguely registers that he’s just mated with his best friend, the man without a heart, Mr. Married-to-his-work, the one and only; Sherlock Holmes.

- **Five Days Later** -

John woke to the sound of rain coming in through the open window of Sherlock’s bedroom. The smell of sex still clung to the air but the smell of the rain was washing it away. He realized that he was laying on his side, Sherlock’s arm around him. So that had happened.

He laid there in silence, trying to figure out what time and day it was. According to Sherlock’s radio clock, it was three p.m. and it was Wednesday… and his heat hit Friday morning…

His eyes bugged a bit. His heat had lasted five days. And Sherlock had seen him through it.

He tried to remember more, trying to recover more of his memories from the last five days. He remembered Sherlock forcing him to eat and drink a few times, telling him that if he did it they could continue having sex.

At that John blushed, pushing it to the back of his mind.

And then something occurred to him. He reached up and touched a spot on the nape of his neck, a bit of pain coursing through him at the freshness of the mark. So that was true too… he and Sherlock had mated.

“I can practically _hear_ you thinking, John,” the man behind him said a bit groggily, only startling him a bit. “Go back to sleep.”

“We mated?” John asked without thinking.

Sherlock sighed heavily as if the conversation was inconveniencing him, which it was. “Yes. May we go back to sleep now?”

“You’re okay with it?”

Sherlock sighed again, realizing that the conversation wouldn’t be over anytime soon. He pulled John closer. “I’ve got my arm around you, don’t I? I’ve not fled nor moved out of the flat overnight. I am lying in bed with you. Is that not evidence enough that I am ‘okay with it’?”

John smiled a bit fondly at the way he was speaking to him, like Sherlock always did. Like Sherlock was the smartest person in the world and John was the only one who could even begin to understand him.

He felt Sherlock rest his lips against the skin on his shoulder and that made him smile wider, the feeling of Sherlock being sweet and gentle with him, something he’s only ever seen him do with children. He brought his hand down and rested his hand atop his.

“I s’ppose it does.”

Part of him wanted to be shy about this. Just a few days ago, Sherlock wasn’t interested in anyone and now suddenly he was alright with being mated to a man. But the time for shyness is five days behind them. If he’s correct, they’ve been mated since the first day of his heat and Sherlock’s had days to run. But he hasn’t.

“What happened to being married to your work?”

John can feel the smirk against his skin and he already knows he is going to get a smart arse remark from the man behind him.

“I suppose you’ll just have to be my mistress, John.”

John can’t stop the laugh he barks out. “I’ll be no such thing.”

After a moment, John turned in Sherlock’s arms. The first thing he notices is Sherlock’s disheveled hair and he smiles, thinking of what his must look like.

And when John looks into his eyes, Sherlock feels at ease.

He leaned forward and kissed the smaller man, it being nothing like their others over the past few days. Those were filled with need, hunger, and lust. This one was soft, loving if you can believe it.

They broke apart with a small sound, Sherlock pulling John closer again. He moved his lips to rest against the Omega’s forehead. “Go back to sleep,” he said soothingly.

John grinned as he snuggled closer, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck while the Alpha maneuvered them so that John was practically laying on his chest, his arm fastened around his waist.

And in that position, John was more than happy to fall asleep with Sherlock.


End file.
